


Thunderstorm

by black_kitty_cat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_kitty_cat/pseuds/black_kitty_cat





	Thunderstorm

The first thing I hear when I wake up is my alarm clock. I turn over to face it and sigh when I see the numbers on the display blinking at me. I throw off the covers and swing my legs out of bed, sit up and stare at my feet. After a minute, I slam my hand down on my alarm clock, cutting off the voice of the cheery morning radio host. I get up and open the curtains. Even though the weather report promised a sunny day, it is already overcast. I get dressed. 

I’m sitting at the breakfast table, a cup of coffee in front of me and a cheese sandwich in my hand. My mother is talking to my father about what to have for dinner tonight. She wants chicken. He feels like having beef. I sigh and take another bite out of my sandwich. A glance at the clock hanging above the door to the kitchen tells me that I have less than ten minutes to make it to the bus stop. I go back to my room to pick up my bag. I check one last time if I’ve packed everything I need for classes that day. 

Before I know it, I’m standing at the bus stop. There’s a light drizzle, and other people have their umbrellas open. I’ve forgotten mine. Finally the bus comes. By the time I make it onto the bus, every seat has been taken. I manage to grab hold of a pole before the bus forces its way back into traffic. The driver's erratic driving makes me sway in all directions. I let out a half-relieved sigh when I notice it’s only two more stops until we’re at the metro. 

Standing on the platform, I look at the electronic timetable. Only five minutes until the next metro. I walk towards the end of the platform, so I’ll have a better chance of getting a carriage with some seats left. I walk closer and closer to the edge of the platform. If someone were to push me right now, I’d land on the tracks. Would I be able to get back onto the platform before the train rolls into the station? If I didn’t, would the train be able to stop before hitting me? If it didn’t, would I survive? Would I be killed immediately, or die later in hospital? Nobody pushes me and when the train approaches, I notice a lot of people are already standing instead of sitting down. I wait for a few people to exit the last carriage, getting shoved left and right by a few who are in a hurry. They probably need to get a bus or a tram. 

By the time I exit the station near school, the light drizzle has turned into a monsoon. I try to hurry to the nearest entrance to the building I’ll have classes in today, but I have to stop every few steps to move my hair out of eyes and I end up getting drenched. When I make it to the entrance, I notice that the elevators are all busy. I take the stairs up to the fifth floor. The other students are already taking their seats. I take up my usual spot near the window on the second to last row. There used to be a girl who sat next to me, but she switched schools. Nobody took her place after she’d left. I put my bag on the seat next to mine.

Instead of eating lunch, I go to the library. I ignore the cozy chairs that have been set up near one end of the room for people to read in, and make my way to the reference section. Nobody comes here during lunch. I sit down on the floor and take out my journal. I’ve given up on writing about my day a long time ago. I use my journal for something else these days. It has become a collection of poetry, lyrics, a few lines of prose. And in between all of those, there are a few lines that don’t belong in any of those categories. They are random thoughts. About that one book I always promised I’d lend to my friend from high school, or that CD I had borrowed from another friend and never remembered to return. 

After my last class of the day is over, I walk up the hill to the nearest metro station. The rain from this morning has stopped, but clouds that promise a thunderstorm later tonight start rolling in fast. I stand near the edge of the station platform. If someone were to push me right now, I’d land on the tracks. Would I be able to get back onto the platform before the train rolls into the station? If I didn’t, would the train be able to stop before hitting me? If it didn’t, would I survive? Would I be killed immediately, or die later in hospital? The train home is even fuller than the one from this morning. I stand in the back corner of the last carriage, leaning my head against the little window on my left. I close my eyes and count how many times the train stops. One stop before the one I need, I open my eyes again and slowly try to make my way towards the doors. A woman with a pram shoves one of the pram’s wheels into my ankle, trying to get to the doors first. I ignore her. 

The bus home is filled with high school kids. They sit with their feet on the seats, backpacks lying around in the aisle. I find a seat near the back of the bus, and make myself as small as possible to squeeze into it. Every couple of stops, I get hit in the arm or the head with a handbag or a backpack from someone getting off the bus. I ignore them. When I get off at my stop, the promised thunderstorm is in full swing. I walk home, expecting one of my parents to be waiting for me to tell me to take of my shoes and clothes in the hallway, so I don’t leave a water trail throughout the house. The house is dark. Nobody’s home. A note from my parents on the kitchen table explains why. My older brother called. They’re gone to have dinner at a restaurant with him and his wife. My dinner’s in the oven.

Suddenly I’m in the bathroom, staring at the medicine cabinet. I know there’s a bottle of pain medication in there. It’s leftover from when I broke my arm a few years ago. I open the cabinet, locate the bottle and take it out. I close the cabinet again and go to my room, clutching the little pill bottle in my hand. I manage to open it and turn it over. About twenty pills spill onto my desk. I take my journal out of my backpack and put it next to the pills. I go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

Later that night, my parents come home from the restaurant. The house is dark.


End file.
